Just a Kiss
by bluesimageburgundy
Summary: Steroline. Caroline POV. Season 6. Caroline ponders on the weight of a kiss.


I chuckled uncomfortably as Elena asked me YET AGAIN "so, what's going on between you and Stefan?"

And AGAIN, I answered that there is, "nothing 'going on'." And that we're "friends."

Hell, after the past five months we'd had, I was just happy to have that much.

When she teased me saying that I should kiss him under the mistletoe this year, I stared at her oddly. Wondering why she thought that would suddenly make us into something that made more sense to everyone else. Wondering how something as trivial as a kiss would mean more than the fact that I couldn't understand how she was so okay with the idea of me and Stefan. How I couldn't understand how she could be over him. Because I didn't understand how anyone could ever be over Stefan.

How a kiss could mean more than the bouquet of pink roses and strawberry cupcakes that he brought me to apologize for his months of abandonment. More than the second set of flowers and cupcakes that he brought after I angrily tossed the first set in the trash right in front of him. Or the third. The fourth.

How could it mean more than the look of relief on his face when I finally forgave him weeks later. Or the way he pulled me into a hug when I offered to let him stay with me. More than the laughter that we erupted into when we were painting the living room and I somehow managed to spill a can of paint on him from the top of a ladder. And the way he chased after me to give me a sloppy hug afterward. Or the sudden spark in the air and Stefan's eyes when I got hot and took off my ruined sweater and finished painting in my tank top.

How could just a touch of the lips mean more than the effortless way that we fit together on the couch during movie night. Or how his fingertips trace shapes on my back in a manner that both soothes and excites me. The way that we seem to always wake up spooned together on the couch, him hard against my back, his breath tickling my hair and me aching with need and fighting back tears at how badly I want him to take me as his own. Or the way that he leaves in a panic before he thinks I've noticed how much he wants to do the same.

Does a kiss mean more than the fact that every Thursday night before he goes out drinking with Damon and Alaric, Stefan draws me a vanilla scented candle-lit bubble bath, pours me a glass of pink zinfandel and turns on the radio to the pop station. How we do each other's household chores even though we complain about it. How he records my favorite shows for me if I'm out with Elena, even though he hates them.

Or the shy smile that crosses Stefan's face whenever Damon teases us for "laying all over each other like puppies". The face that he doesn't move a muscle after that. Or how I instinctively move away from him whenever Elena enters the room, and how he holds me tighter to reassure me that I don't need to. Or the lingering gazes that we allow ourselves sometimes when we're feeling indulgent.

But what really means more than a kiss, is the fact that after all that Stefan has done to build our broken friendship back to beyond what it even was before...I know that he would never do anything to threaten it ever again. And so, I realized, it would have to be me. Because, at the end of the day, it WAS just a kiss. It didn't have the power to destroy what we had. It wouldn't suddenly make us something that we aren't already. And it didn't mean more than all of the things that we already had.

But it was something I realized that I wanted. Something harmless and delicious and something that would only add to all of the lovely things that we were.

So when I walked in the house and Stefan greeted me at the door with a smile and a beer, much to his surprise, I took it from his hand and place it on the kitchen counter before sliding my fingers through the back of his hair and pulling his lips gently toward mine. And suddenly a kiss didn't seem quite so trivial. It was soft and delicious but poised to ignite. I pulled away with a soft pop of separating lips, closed my eyes, licked my lips and tasted him.

"What was that?" he asked me, his eyes playful and dark as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me into a hug.

"It was a kiss," I said, giving him a long squeeze back before grabbing my beer and heading to the couch.

He stared at me for a beat before joining me, piecing himself against me the same way he always did. And so we settled in to watch a movie just like always. But now with shy smiles and the taste of one another on our lips. And we were the same. But more.


End file.
